


if the subways flood and bridges break

by mangabreadroll



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Contains swearing - Freeform, Fix-It of Sorts, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, M/M, a little stozier if you squint, there's both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 15:10:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangabreadroll/pseuds/mangabreadroll
Summary: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak are best friends.And sometimes, you fall in love with your best friend.A series of moments before and after the 27 years: a Friday afternoon, a game of Street Fighter, a small hammock, a revealing question, a man floating in the deadlights, and two ways things could've turned out.





	if the subways flood and bridges break

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with me wanting to write both a canon-compliant AND a fix-it to see which one made me cry harder. Now that it's done I'll say I've never loved Eddie and Richie's story more. Before we go in I'd like to mention that I kind of winged it with my minimal Street Fighter knowledge and I suck at writing stand-up comedy segments so please pretend the jokes in the last part are funny. Enjoy.

“He’s not following us, right?” Eddie stammers, whipping his head over his shoulder at the best possible moment.

“He probably tired himself out pushing the other kids out of his way,” Stan says flatly.

“Oh my God, really?” Richie looks over his shoulder this time. “Oh God, we did it. My brave men - ” His voice drops to a deep, military-esque tone and he raises a fist into the air. “Today, we have escaped the tyranny of Henry Bowers!”

“Shut _up_!” Eddie hisses, jerking his head backwards by reflex.

“There’s no one behind us,” Richie clarifies, before noticing something else in the corner of his vision. “What’s wrong, Stan?”

Stan’s bike has slowed to a ticking crawl across the gravel, stopping at a street corner curb. The other boys slow their bikes as well.

“I’m sorry. I can’t go with you guys today,” Stan says, extremely reluctant. “My dad wants me to do some reading this afternoon.”

The corners of Bill’s mouth turn down slightly, making his already sad-looking face look sadder than usual. “I-it’s alright.”

“Um, I’m sorry too, Bill,” Eddie says softly, gripping his bike handles tightly. “My Ma said she wants me home early.”

Bill nods, understanding but obviously deflated from the hope of a carefree Friday afternoon going out of him. “What about you, Rich?”

“Me?” Richie looks from Bill to the other will-be absentees. “I’ve got an appointment. With a hot ninth-grader!” He breaks into a giddy smile.

“No, you don’t,” Eddie says, without pause.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause it’s not with your mom.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Rich. I’m going to – crawl through your window, if my Ma doesn’t get me first - ”

“Richie,” Bill repeats.

“Sorry, Bill,” Richie responds quickly. He sits up straighter on his bike and adjusts his glasses. “I’ve gotta stay home too. My mom made me finish my overdue homework.”

Bill nods again, a bit too many times. “It’s alright. See you guys t-tomorrow, then?”

The boys nod slowly, the uncertainty of the length of their confinement hanging over their heads, but nod anyway.

“See you tomorrow,” they echo, and they go their separate ways.

*

There’s no line for _Street Fighter_ today, and Richie is buzzing. And also not, because the Losers weren’t able to join him at this hour.

They’d spent the whole day together, splashing around in the quarry in the morning until him and Bill started to have runny noses, walking around town where kind, sweet Bev bought everyone an ice cream cone, and then to the cinema, where the movie they’d picked out that absolutely could not be a horror movie turned out to be boring as hell, except maybe for Stan.

He’d asked if they’d wanted a final, extra excursion at the arcade, but the others had been too exhausted to go through with the agenda. In the end, he’d made his way there on his own. He didn’t want to go home on his own just yet, not after so much time with them.

He slips the token into its slot and jabs the start button. Everyone loved playing as Ryu, though if you _kept _playing as him people called you boring because he was the main character and people were getting sick of him. But Ryu’s strong, and cool, and Richie’s gotten good at being him, so he doesn’t care.

Eddie had been his first arcade buddy, and he sucked terribly at it. While Richie navigated the joystick, Eddie would be complaining about not being able to get a hit in and how shitty the controls were, and would end most of their rounds stomping away from the console with a suggestion to kill time somewhere else. After Bill came along, he’d had someone near his skill level to play with.

Ben came close too, a tippy-toes careful player when he first gave it a shot, but then quickly picked up on the skills. Stan, who’d never touched a video game in his life, didn’t care for it and sucked ass. Almost as much as Eddie.

He’d lauded his victories over him until Eddie was screaming at him, but then he’d stand beside him and start to coach him on the moves. Eventually they’d come to a rare point where they were evenly matched with each other, just two of them exchanging blows until someone slipped up and lost (usually Eddie). 

He liked playing with Eddie. It was always more fun playing with Eddie.

Not that it wasn’t fun playing with the other Losers, though. The Losers were his friends.

Eddie was his friend.

*

“It’s been ten minutes. Get off the hammock,” Eddie glares, somehow managing to loom over the hammock despite looking like the equivalent of an angry hamster.

“Ten minutes?” Richie looks up from his comic book, confused. “I don’t see any sign.”

Eddie explodes. “Ten minutes was the rule! We had a verbal agreement! We were all here when we made the agreement, and you were like _oh of _course_ Eddie, ten minutes, but I won’t be sitting in it anyway because it makes my butt itch _\- ”

“I didn’t say that,” Richie blurts, because he seriously can’t remember, but Eddie has already hoisted himself into the hammock, ass-first, one socked foot thudding against his cheek. The hammock sags audibly from the sudden weight, but they’re both able to sit comfortably inside.

They sit in silence for the most part, while the other Losers trade topics, occasionally chiming in when someone mentions something within their field of expertise or when they disagree. For the longest time Richie feels Eddie’s lower leg pressed against his calf in the bid for space, and for a moment he feels _happy_, a feeling like electricity jumping up and down his arms and legs that makes him want to throw back his head and laugh. A smile breaks onto his face, without control and without warning.

“Is that issue #51 you’ve got there?” he asks Eddie, glancing at him over the top of his book.

“Yeah, but I’m only halfway through, so wait your turn,” Eddie replies, not glancing back.

Richie stares at the cover of Eddie’s book instead. They both read the same series, but he was missing a few issues, either misplaced or unavailable by the time he got to the store. The one he’s on now actually has around five interconnected storylines, something about alternate timelines or something like that. “How many times have you read that already?”

“About five,” Eddie breathes, with a slight giddiness, his eyes not leaving the page. Eddie, surprisingly, collected the books religiously. Although his mom stopped him from being outside for extended periods of time, she hadn’t stopped him from reading in the safety of his home, as long as what he was reading was safe – one of the things he’d managed to hide from her.

“Mind if I take some of them back?” Richie holds up his book with one hand, the other clapping onto Eddie’s knee.

Eddie finally looks at him, eyebrows pointed downward in thought, but then he smiles. “I know you treat these books like your lady friends, so I trust you with them. So no.”

Richie’s smile widens and he starts gathering comics into his arms.

“But I want them back by tomorrow,” Eddie decides as an afterthought, and he playfully kicks the side of Richie’s cheek with his foot.

Richie lets out a laugh, which slowly falters as he realises the strange warmth spreading across his face, and somewhere in his chest. It’s a funny feeling he gets again as he focuses on the warmth of their small bodies and their too-long legs packed into the folds of the hammock.

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he knows that he likes _this_. His hand slides down Eddie’s knee, rubbing against his shin.

Eddie laughs too, but more gentle, as he looks at Richie, something that’s been lying on one side in his head seeming to turn over.

*

The lone bottle of calcium supplements sits waiting for him on the tabletop. He unscrews the lid and, positioning his other arm just right, shakes out a single white tablet onto his stiff hand.

Stupid, stupid Eddie. Why did he have to give that answer?

“You’re not still spending time with that Marsh girl, are you?” his mom asks from the living room.

Eddie wants to lie, at least so that his mom won’t ask him about it again, or in case she decides to make some changes to his daily schedule, but thinks better of it. “She’s a nice girl, mommy. She goes to classes and rides her bike home just like the rest of us.”

There’s an uneasy silence before his mom responds, her voice low but reprimanding. “Eddie, you have to be careful with the girls you make friends with. Some of them act nice, but the truth is they only want to use you. You don’t know how many boys they’ve touched, all over the place. Don’t ever let those kind of girls touch you.”

Eddie is already tuning out, this has got absolutely nothing to do with him, but he’s immediately thrown back into last night’s conversation. 

“I vote truth. Richie’s done too many dares,” Bev had said, a sly grin on her face.

“Kneel before my unmatched power!” Richie had bellowed; to his side, Stan looked like he wanted to strangle him.

“Wait, I want to ask this one,” Bill cut in, eager. “W-wh-who would you marry, who would you kiss, and who would you kill. You can only choose any of us.”

“That’s the dumbest truth question I’ve heard in my life,” Richie said, before pushing up his glasses and going over the choices in his head. After two seconds, he spoke. “I’d kill Bill, for always spoiling our fun and for asking this dumb question.”

“Marry Bev, because who wouldn’t - ” He held out a hand to Bev, who laughed, while the other boys seemed to agree with this strongly.

“What do you mean, ‘because who wouldn’t’?” Eddie shot at him, hoping to rile him up a little. “What kind of a half-assed reason is that?”

“If I was asked fuck, of course I’d do it with your mom!” Richie returned gleefully.

Eddie spluttered, thrown off course by a Richie special once again. “That’s fucking disgusting, Richie - ”

“A-and…” Richie’s eyes scanned the circle of Losers, darting away from Eddie almost immediately. “And I’d kiss Stan, because he’s the prettiest one here.” He tilted his head at Stan thoughtfully.

Stan narrowed his eyes back at Richie, flustered. “Like I’d let your stinking mouth near me in the first place.” The other Losers laughed.

“Is that the truth, Richie?”

“No Eddie in there?” Mike asked.

“Oh yeah, I pick truth for Eddie,” Richie said. “Same question as Bill.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Eddie argued, but the others were already turning to look at him anticipatedly. “He’s not - you’re not telling the truth!” But why’d he think that? It was a perfectly Richie thing to say.

“Answer the question, Eddie!” Richie pressed. He was pushing everyone’s attention onto him so he wouldn’t have to explain anything, that wasn’t fair…

“I’d probably kill you, Rich,” he answered. “Because then you’d finally _shut up _and I wouldn’t have to smell your stinking breath anymore. And, and I’d marry you, so you wouldn’t even have a _chance_ with those girls you say you’ve made out with, and… And maybe I’d kiss you too, so no one else has to, and because face it, no one else will.”

For a long second, everyone was silent, including Richie, who just stared at him, his wide eyes magnified further by his glasses. Then everyone burst out laughing, and started clapping. As Eddie remembered to catch his breath from talking, he saw Richie’s face go red and heard a small “you’re getting good, Eds”, and suddenly the weight of everything he just said came tumbling down on him like him crashing through the floorboards of the Neibolt house.

Mike was patting him on the shoulder, congratulating him for being the one to shut up Richie Tozier this week, and Stan was looking very pleased, but for some reason he was terrified. He couldn’t even look at Richie, he felt so stupid right now. There were six other Losers, couldn’t he have mentioned their names as well? 

How much of that had been the truth?

Eddie takes a deep breath, then lets it out. He still wishes he could have shut his own mouth up then, but that’s what happens when you play a stupid game like truth or dare.

“ – go make friends with a girl who can take care of you.” He vaguely hears his mom saying.

He stares at the tablet in his palm for a long time before cupping his hand to his mouth and swallowing.

* 

Richie Tozier hangs in the thrall of the deadlights, his limp body strung up high above the ground, his eyes clouded white by the glaring, pulsing orbs floating at the center of Its maw.

Eddie’s throat closes up. The breaths come in quick and sharp, the pressure threatening to burst his lungs.

He knows his inhaler has burned to particles at the bottom of the urn. He clutches a hand to his chest, collapsing backwards against the cavern wall.

_Rich_, he tries to say. _Richie’s not talking anymore, Richie’s floating, and then he’ll be floating here till forever like all the missing dead kids_.

The breath in seems to take an eternity. He lifts the hand that isn’t clawed over his chest. The tip of the spike glints bronze in the light emanating from within the nest, his clammy fingers locked tight around cold steel.

His body won’t let him move, again. If he goes out there, he’ll be with the clown, and the clown will get him, thrashing and screaming, like It always does, and the next thing he knows he’ll be floating up there too. But he’d be up there with Richie, so that might be not be so bad after all…

It’s awfully quiet without Richie around.

Eddie exhales. He bolts out from under the cavern’s entrance, his arm arched backward.

“_Beep beep, motherfucker_!”

The spike sails beautifully through the air and makes a bullseye right down Pennywise’s throat. The deadlights go out. Pennywise’s mouth erupts into flames, a million screams echoing throughout the cavern amidst violent gurgling noises as It claws at the site of injury.

Eddie nearly passes out from adrenaline, but his footing manages to hold steady. He’s breathing normally again. His vision drifts away from center of the cavern where Pennywise is writhing in pain to the spot where Richie had rushed out to earlier. The haze over his mind lifts immediately, and he stumbles over.

Richie’s body still hovers above the cavern floor, weightless, but lower now, enough for Eddie to boost himself upward and grab ahold of his ankles.

“_Rich_!” he calls out, clinging onto his shoulders as he pulls him back down to the ground. “Hey! I think I did it, man!” He sneaks a glance behind him, still unbelieving, unable to hold back the smile breaking onto his face. “I think I killed it!” 

Richie’s eyes and expression are blank, his mouth hanging slightly open as if what he’d seen in the deadlights had surprised him.

“No, no, no.” Eddie’s lip trembles, and his smile starts to fall apart. His shoulders start shaking. He slaps Richie across the cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Wake up, asshole! You were the one who wanted to laugh at the killer clown! How are you gonna get yourself out of this now, huh, smartass?” His voice gives out as a sob racks through his clenched-up body.

Richie stares right through him. Eddie wants so much to scream, to just shake him until he gets the clue to wake up. The last time, it’d happened to Beverly. And then Ben had…

He stares back at Richie. For a moment he sees Richie laughing at him in the restaurant where they’d met for the first time as adults, and Richie, smaller, laughing at a joke he just made as they wheeled their bikes down the streets of Derry, long before they’d left. His heart begins a pounding, but steady rhythm in his chest.

“Hey, Rich? Try not to enjoy this.” He cups Richie’s cheeks in his hands and kisses him.

He doesn’t let go, pulling the face in his hands closer to his, until he feels Richie gasp and he looks up to see him, the life returning to his eyes, blinking around in panic and confusion before finally coming to rest on him.

The first thing Richie sees when he wakes up is Eddie, eyes clogged through and bandage soaked with tears, but smiling. “There’s my Richie.” 

* * *

_I love you on the weekends  
It’s a cruel war_

_*_

“He was employee of the month, but every time I spilled drinks all over a customer’s table, or gave somebody a wrong order, he’d just stand near the countertop watching me - ” He leans against the stool, propping his arm up like he’s holding a tray and slips into a bored expression. “ – like this, and say, _is there a problem, Richie_?”

A few laughs escape from the back rows. Richie continues. “The manager was bad too. On one of my worse days, I got called in to see him. On my way in, my ever so helpful co-worker wished me good luck, and that was how I knew he’d tipped the big man off.”

“And the big man told me I could either meet their standards, or walk out that door. Fair point, I said. Now when anyone asks me if I was bullied out of my college job, I say I was granted leave for my contributions to the company.”

The audience erupts into laughter, and Richie takes a step back to let them recover. It’s been a turnaround for the show for the last few months, something Richie has taken great comfort in.

“Most of you know I’ve had a pretty rough childhood,” he says, as the crowd quietens again. “I think most of us have had pretty rough childhoods.”

“There was this guy in middle school, Henry.” He looks into the crowd as the story lays itself out in his head. “Bigger than us. Already overflowing with that teenage angst. Don’t know what was up with him but as long as he didn’t feel good about you, you were a victim of the _hunt_.” He points on the last word. “And he would always be waiting for us, same spot, same time, after school. I’m not kidding when I say he beat the shit of us, me and my friends. But I’ll admit, we still clapped for him on his graduation day.”

A few audience members giggle, but Richie continues. “Now, I’m pretty sure that once in a while, we like to check up on people we haven’t seen in a while. You know, see how they’re doing, did they get together with their girl, and whatnot. Bullies, less so.”

“Fast forward to a few months ago,” he narrates, making a circular motion with his finger, anticipating the moment as much as the crowd is. “I met up with my friends from school. We had dinner. We had a great time catching up. And guess who decides to crash the party?” More laughter rocks through the crowd. “_Fucking Henry_!”

“And as if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d gone and invited himself, he went up to my friend and pulled a knife on him!” Richie slaps a hand to his forehead as the audience reels from the sudden swerve. “Fucking awkward.”

“Now, one of my good friends, he was a total wuss back in school. He was the kind of person who’d jump at his own reflection when he was home alone. If this had been school, he would’ve been the first one to haul ass out of there. You can imagine the look on my face when I found out he pulled his own knife on Henry as well.”

The audience screams and cheers. Richie smiles a tiny smile, somewhat stuck halfway between the memory he’d just recounted and the moment now as he’s standing onstage.

“Sometimes childhood isn’t just about the friends, and the bullies,” he adds, gazing into the crowd but also somewhere further away at the same time. “There’s also that one person you just can’t stop thinking of.” There’s a pause as the realisation sets into the crowd before someone lets out a high whistle. “And when he told me he did that, I’d never felt like telling him I loved him more.”

The audience dissolves into thunderous cheers and applause. No one laughs. Richie stares into the crowd, fully this time, in the faint possibility that someone is sitting there watching, clapping for him, but knows, as his smile fades and the audience cheers on, that there is only just people.

*

He doesn’t have to cling on to the memory of him in his mind; it’s all he can think of.

Eddie, his eyebrows furrowed and his hands on his hips but his shoulders still hunched over defensively, whenever he was worried; the way his eyes crinkled and the corners of his mouth stretched out when he smiled, and if they went all the way up then he was just smiling out of discomfort. Then he’s younger, and younger still, a playback from one Eddie to the other in the vision of his mind.

There’s no way he’d start to forget these little things over time. The memories are still so raw in his mind.

He brings his car to a stop just shy of the tunnel entrance. He climbs out, slipping the knife into the front pocket of his hoodie, walks further up along the wooden fence and kneels down when he reaches it.

He stares at them, the letters he carved into the wood twenty-seven years ago, on the day he’d been _sure_, through a haze of tears and determination and as many fuck-yous a thirteen-year-old could give the world, sure that that was what he wanted, more than anything.

They hadn’t been able to take him with them.

He smooths his fingers over the carved lines. Digs his fingernails into them just to prove to himself that they’re there.

He would’ve brought him here.

There’s no point thinking of what he would’ve, but he would’ve brought him here, to the bridge, play it off like they were just revisiting another old spot of Derry’s, and then he’d wait for Eddie to notice the thing he’d brought him here to see, and he’d tell him.

How Eddie would take it, he cannot imagine. He’d never been able to.

But back in the cavern, there’d been something. As Richie stayed watch over him, the gaping hole in his chest bleeding out, while their friends fought back against Pennywise in the background, he’d spoken.

“Richie.”

“Yeah?”

“Richie, I…”

“What is it, Eds?” He’d wanted so much to ask him what it was, to _know_, but he’d said it softly, so Eddie could find the strength to tell him on his own; he’d waited for him.

He never knew what came after.

Richie rests his forehead against the wood, blinking against the flow of tears and images of the past.

_Who cares what they think?_ he remembers good old Stan saying, on a bad school day, during one of those times where he spoke much older than he was, with a face that read he’d hated saying it but a tone Richie now realised had been sincere. _Just be your dumb self like you always do_.

The memory makes him smile. He keeps it on his face, as he puts his knife to the wood and starts to carve into the letters.

_R + E_.

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

And a few months from now, he sees, he saw it in a bright light some time ago, he’ll come back to this spot and write it again, so it is set in the bones of this part of old Derry, and he’ll blow a kiss down to the river like how you’re supposed to do it on the kissing bridge, telling him, “Don’t worry about me too much, Eds.”

He’ll make sure it’s real, again and again.

* * *

_Will you lay yourself down and dig your grave,  
or will you rail against your dying day?_

*

“He was employee of the month, but every time I spilled drinks all over a customer’s table, or gave somebody a wrong order, he’d just stand near the countertop watching me - ” He leans against the stool, propping his arm up like he’s holding a tray and slips into a bored expression. “ – like this, and say, _is there a problem, Richie_?”

A few laughs escape from the back rows. Richie continues. “The manager was bad too. On one of my worse days, I got called in to see him. On my way in, my ever so helpful co-worker wished me good luck, and that was how I knew he’d tipped the big man off.”

“And the big man told me I could either meet their standards, or walk out that door. Fair point, I said. Now when anyone asks me if I was bullied out of my college job, I say I was granted leave for my contributions to the company.”

The audience erupts into laughter, and Richie takes a step back to let them recover. It’s been a turnaround for the show for the last few months, something Richie has taken great comfort in.

“Most of you know I’ve had a pretty rough childhood,” he says, as the crowd quietens again. “I think most of us have had pretty rough childhoods.”

“There was this guy in middle school, Henry. Bigger than us. Already overflowing with that teenage angst. Don’t know what was up with him but as long as he didn’t feel good about you, you were a victim of the _hunt_.” He points on the last word.

“And he would always be waiting for us, same spot, same time, after school. I’m not kidding when I say he beat the shit of us, me and my friends. But I’ll admit, we still clapped for him on his graduation day.”

A few audience members giggle, but Richie continues. “Now, I’m pretty sure that once in a while, we like to check up on people we haven’t seen in a while. You know, see how they’re doing, did they get together with their girl, and whatnot. Bullies, less so.”

“Fast forward to a few months ago,” he narrates, making a circular motion with his finger, anticipating the moment as much as the crowd is. “I met up with my friends from school. We had dinner. We had a great time catching up. And guess who decides to crash the party?” More laughter rocks through the crowd. “_Fucking Henry_!”

“And as if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d gone and invited himself, he went up to my friend and pulled a knife on him!” Richie slaps a hand to his forehead as the audience reels from the sudden swerve. “None of you can say you’ve been to an awkward reunion, because nothing compares to the _climax_ of uncomfortable that I experienced that day!”

The crowd has gone wild with laughter. Richie lets loose a laugh as well, unclenching a finger from his microphone to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Now, one of my good friends - ” He clears his throat. “ - he was a total wuss back in school. He was the kind of person who’d jump at his own reflection when he was home alone. It took us two years to convince him to go swimming in the lake because he was afraid of swimming in other people’s pee. When Henry came at him with the knife like some B-movie serial killer – he was in a bathroom, by the way – he hid behind a _shower curtain_.”

“Here’s something else.” He straightens up a little and casts the audience a sideways glance. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my childhood crush.”

The crowd oohs, suddenly interested. Richie returns to the story. “He hid behind the shower curtain. Henry had him cornered. He went straight up to the tub and just pushed the curtains aside. Then Eddie jumped out, snatched Henry’s knife right out of his hand, _screaming_, ‘_Get rid of that mullet, it’s been thirty years!_’, and he ran Henry’s ass right out of the house.”

The crowd breaks into claps and cheers. “He came back with a hole in his cheek,” Richie says, smiling as the memory plays out in front of him. “To be honest, that was all I saw from the incident. Everything else before that, he told me. But that story never fails to remind me that the love of my life is a brave, brave man.” He looks up at the audience. “And if I’m not wrong, I think he’s right here with us right now.”

The people seated turn their heads as the spotlight scans through the rows, finally stopping over a small man smiling nervously in the middle row because he’d flusteredly declined having a seat in front.

“There he is! You good over there, Eddie?” Richie calls out, his smile brightening as he walks to the edge of the stage.

“Y-yeah,” Eddie calls back hoarsely, raising a shaky thumbs-up and trying to give polite smiles to all the people who’ve now turned in their seats to get a good look at him.

“Don’t smother him too much guys, he’s not used to the attention,” Richie advises, unable to lose the smile on his face.

“Unfortunately, this is also where I bid you all _adios_. Thank you so much for choosing to spend your time here when you could literally be doing anything else, it’s been a wonderful evening, have a good night.”

The audience breaks into applause again as they slowly file out of the studio. Richie meets Eddie’s eyes as the latter gets up, before he turns to walk off backstage, where he’ll wait to meet him there. 

*

He brings his car to a stop just shy of the tunnel entrance. He climbs out, slipping the knife into the front pocket of his hoodie, walks further up along the wooden fence and kneels down when he reaches it.

He stares at the letters carved into the wood, nestled in its pot amidst many others scrawled in various styles of handwriting, the message still clear despite being smoothened by the passing of twenty-seven years.

He runs a thumb over the carved lines, and as he does he’s thirteen-year-old Richie Tozier again, taking in the mark he’s made on this decades-old bridge in the quiet shade of fading summer afternoon. He smiles.

He pulls the knife out from his jacket pocket, a new one now, and begins to carve into the letters.

“This is so cheesy, Rich,” Eddie says to his right, scratching a second knife into the other half of the carving.

“Cheesier than you paying for that out-of-town trip with your work money?” Richie returns, smiling wryly in his direction.

“I’ve been feeling very generous lately.” Eddie looks away from him to scratch deeper into the wood. “I’d like to see you pay for something.”

“Eds, if you want free tickets for you to go drool over Mulaney, you can just tell me straight.” Richie eyes him intently. “Unless you’re talking about that stripclub behind the studio, which will need a little more than just money, but anything for you, Eds.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie replies, but he lets out a laugh.

They continue carving away at their initials. They reach the plus sign at the same time, their knuckles bumping into each other. They stare each other down for a brief moment before they arm-wrestle for the plus, two grown men scuffling on bent knees in front of a worn-down fence, until Richie loosens his grip a little and Eddie twists Richie’s arm off of his own, throwing Richie a satisfied glance before putting his knife to the wood, while Richie never takes his eyes off of him the whole time.

Richie dusts off a few stray wood shavings from the ‘R’. “We’re gonna slap these on our invitation cards, big as your mom’s ass. Probably get Ben or Bev to freshen the handwriting up a little, I don’t think _I’d_ want to see hundreds of copies of my shit writing.”

“I think it’s fine.” Eddie brushes some wood chips of his ‘E’ as well. “And shut up about my mom’s ass.” He stares right through the fence. “What if I told you I wrote E + R in my notebooks as well, since that was what people with crushes did in school?”

“Are you offering to do the honours?” Richie says, then the knife nearly slips out of his hands. “Wait, did you?”

“No.” Eddie crouches lower into the ground. “I’m just asking you what if I did.”

The look on Richie’s face is soft. “I would’ve died right there in your arms.”

“I always had this feeling, but I never realised it was _there_.” Eddie seems to carve into the letters with his eyes. “I never thought much about it back then, about love.”

Richie is silent, his gaze far away.

“Hey.” Eddie notices, and crawls over, resting a hand on Richie’s shoulder and squeezing it firmly. “Don’t you ever think that I don’t love you now.” 

They stand, Richie coming up one whole head over Eddie, the most obvious change from when they had still been kids. No one would’ve expected skinny Richie Tozier to grow out, even if his poor vision stayed the same, and tiny Eddie Kaspbrak to, well, stay mostly small.

They look out over the kissing bridge, over the stagnant river, and Richie holds out his hand so Eddie can take it, not noticing that Eddie’s fingers have already been outstretched, waiting, and they link their fingers together.

No one would’ve expected this, either. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, this is another one of my fics that I wrote in between assignments and uni stuff. Also, coming out of this fic, I may have ideas on a piece about the other Losers as well.
> 
> The title and lyrics in this fic were taken from Sleep On the Floor by The Lumineers and Wars by Of Monsters and Men, two of the many songs that I listened to while writing this (and I stand with anyone who says SOtF is a Reddie song).
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, comments are very very very much appreciated!


End file.
